Painting the Goat
by NoClueKid
Summary: In which Beorn's ale has mysterious properties, Fili and Kili attempt to play match-maker, eggs are juggled, bets are made, and Bilbo learns a few things about dwarvish culture.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: I was very disappointed by the second Hobbit movie, so I wrote this little thing to cheer myself up. I definitely picture movie!Thorin and Bilbo, but the version I have in mind of Beorn is closer to the books. I didn't like him being so gloomy, although that was the least of my issues with the movie...)

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Bilbo was not exactly a stranger to ale, and that went ten times over for any of the dwarves. Yet it would seem that the drink of Beorn, much like the skin-changer himself, was possessed of mysterious qualities. At least, that was the way in which everyone was behaving. Dwalin's monastic vows prohibited the consumption of alcohol, and Thorin had become suspicious early on and not drank much himself.

The rest of them were pretty far gone. Their antics made the initial meeting at Bilbo's house seem, in retrospect, rather tame. There had been the usual singing during dinner, which had led to dancing…on tables. Bilbo learned that Dori, Nori, and Ori in particular could pull off quite the impressive jig, at the same time as juggling eggs. However, when Ori had dropped his egg on Oin's head, a food-fight ensued which spilled over into the rest of the house and into the yard.

"Beorn is going to kill us!" Bilbo exclaimed, as he ducked under the table to avoid flying cheese.

"They'll clean it up, laddie." Balin assured him, casually smoking his pipe as the occasional broccoli floret bounced off his head.

Bilbo crawled out the door and into the living room, which was somewhat calmer. There was a couch near the fire, and in front of it a low table, which was crowded with mugs of ale. Thorin sat there, along with Gloin. The latter was drinking deeply; the former raised one of the cups and gave it a suspicious sniff, but refrained from tasting, muttering darkly about skin-changer magic.

"Is it always like this?" Bilbo said, coming to sit on the couch beside Gloin. "Or is it something in the ale?"

Before Thorin could answer, Gloin turned to Bilbo, drawing a small portrait out of his pocket.

"Baggins!" He boomed, throwing one arm around Bilbo's shoulders. "'Have I ever told you about my wife?"

Bilbo, glancing at Thorin, saw him roll his eyes. Gloin proceeded to wax poetic – or at least as poetic as dwarves ever waxed – about his wife and son. Thorin seemed to have heard it before, but translated the odd word here and there that Bilbo didn't understand (i.e. Molvrogen, dwarvish for diaper. At first Bilbo thought Gloin was simply gargling ale.) In general, however, Bilbo did find it genuinely interesting.

"Oh no, I wish _I'd_ had a model axe to play with when I was younger." He was saying, as Gloin described the myriad of toys he and his friends had made for Gimly.

"'Model'?" Asked Gloin, taking another gulp.

"Er, you know, a toy…"

"No no, I assure you 'tis quite real." Gloin said with a wave of his hand, slopping a bit of his drink onto Bilbo's pants. "Just small-scale, not as sharp as it might be, perhaps…"

"Well, er…even better." Bilbo said, uncomfortable. "Might have…prepared me for all this, if I'd started when I was two…"

"You're not doing so badly." Kili said, hopping over the back of the couch to sit on Bilbo's other side.

"He speaks the truth." Fili said, coming to stand behind the couch. "Most of us are betting that you'll survive at least another week."

Thorin said something to them in dwarvish, a note of warning in his voice. The conversation ebbed a little.

"Say." Fili said, patting Gloin on the back. "I hear Bifur and Bofur talking about painting some of the goats."

"Yellow." Put in Kili. "And blue."

"Really?" Gloin said, rising to his feet with a wobble. "That sounds like a damn good time."

"Better hurry then." Fili said, slipping into his vacated spot.

"They're…" Bilbo began as Gloin headed towards the door. "I don't think Beorn will –"

"They're not." Mouthed Kili, as Fili shook his head. "It's just that we find the stuff about his family a bit boring at this point."

"I mean, good on 'im." Said Fili, at full volume now that Gloin was gone, "But seriously, it's not a spectator sport, domesticity."

"I uh, suppose it's not." Bilbo said. "Not by your standards anyway."

"'Our' standards?" Kili said in mock offense.

"What, pray-tell, do you mean by that?" Fili asked, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Oh you know darn well what I mean. All this talk of death and disembowelment, I don't mind talking about hearth and home every now and again."

"Ohhhh, you want to talk domestics." Kili said, as though experiencing a vast epiphany.

"You should talk to our uncle about that." Fili said.

"What?" Both Bilbo and Thorin said in unison.

"So, uh," Bilbo said, slightly flustered, "I take it there's a Mrs. Oakenshield, then?"

Both Fili and Kili dissolved into hysterics. Thorin cast his most chilling glare at the pair of them, before responding,

"No. I will never have a wife nor children, which is why these two are my heirs." He glared at his nephews again. "That's not set in stone, mind. I do have relatives in the Iron Mountains. I can still disown you."

"You wound us, uncle." Kili said, clutching his heart.

"Not severely enough."

"We only care about your happiness, uncle." Fili said.

"B-because you're life is so difficult?" Bilbo asked.

"What?" All three of them asked, looking at Bilbo as though they had momentarily forgotten he was there.

"Uh, the reason you're not married. Is that why?"

Thorin looked at him with an odd, almost pained expression. Fili and Kili were sniggering again. What the hell did they find so funny?

"I think you need another pint." Fili said, sliding someone's discarded tankard along the table towards Thorin. To Bilbo's slight surprise, he downed the entire thing.

"So, you were saying…?" Thorin said, seeming suddenly distracted, as he set the empty container aside.

"Bilbo was interrogating you as to your personal life." Said Kili.

"I-I was doing no such-" Bilbo sputtered indignantly.

"Oh that." Thorin interrupted with a wave of his hand. "No personal life to speak of, since Dwalin took up the life of the cloth."

Bilbo gasped, which was most inconvenient, as he had also been drinking a gulp of ale, with the result was that said ale came out not only his mouth but also his nose.

Fili and Kili began laughing harder than ever, simultaneously pounding him on the back. Assumedly they meant to be helpful, but for Bilbo it was more like being battered with hammers. He staggered up, out of their reach.

"Oh dear, I think we shocked him." Kili said.

"That's three silvers from Bifur." Fili said happily.

"What?" Asked Bilbo, utterly confused.

"Betting that you wouldn't choke, if we had this conversation over a meal."

"What the world is going on?" Bilbo asked, his question directed mostly at Thorin.

"What the _hell_ was in that ale?" Thorin asked, his question directed to no-one in particular. He got up and retrieved his water-skin from where it hung by the door, empting it, before wiping his mouth and coming back to sit on the couch.

"So," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, "have we offended you, master Baggins?"

"N-no –"

"We have." Said Fili. "He thinks we're louts."

"Perverts." Chimed in Kili."

"Sexual deviants." Amended Fili.

"'We', meaning mostly just you." Kili said to Thorin.

Thorin shouted something in dwarvish which caused both his nephews to run out the door at top speed.

"Well, time to paint a goat!" Kili said, before slamming the door behind them.

"I don't think you're any of that!" Shouted Bilbo, almost hysterical with distress.

"It's alright." Thorin said, rubbing his temples again. "Gandalf mentioned our kinds have different…attitudes about that sort of thing."

"Putting it lightly." Bilbo muttered. "But even so I could never think less of you. I-if you must know," the words came out in a rush, "something s-similar happened to me. He didn't take up, er, a life of the cloth but he did take a wife and now he has seven kids and – oh my stars I just _said_ that?! What the hell was _in_ that ale?"

He jumped to his feet, beside himself with horror at his nerve, or stupidity, whichever one wanted to call it. He turned to leave – maybe to find the nearest goblin to help put him out of his misery – but Thorin raised one of his legs, foot resting on the low table, effectively barring Bilbo's passage.

"What exactly is the problem with telling me that?" Thorin asked. Bilbo felt trapped more by his eyes than anything else. "What do you imagine you'll be judged for?"

"Cowardice?" Bilbo said, taking a few steps back and flopping down on the couch again. "I have never admitted that to anyone, not even my closest friends. And I think it was mostly the ale talking." He eyed the empty cups with suspicion.

Thorin snorted. "That, I won't argue. However, you've lived your life well, in accordance to your people. Now…you're not doing so badly, living in accordance to mine. I do not believe that you're a coward. Quite the opposite."

He couldn't meet Thorin's eyes. He told himself it didn't matter. Yes, Bilbo and Dwalin might be of the same gender, but he was pretty sure that was the extent of their similarities.

"That's…well, you're very kind."

"No, but I _am_ honest. When I say that you are brave, know that it is true."

"The ironic thing is, I don't have the courage to argue with you."

At that point, the door to the hall burst open. They were treated to the sight of Bombur, clad in nothing but flowers, as he ran across the room and out the other door.

Both Thorin and Bilbo stared blankly for a moment, Bilbo's mouth slightly ajar. _That _was an image he would not soon forget.

"What was in that ale?" He managed, at last.

"That's…actually rather normal." Thorin muttered. "Although the flowers are a recent development."

The door opened again, and a rather harassed-looking Dwalin stomped into the room, holding what looked like a lasso.

"Tell me they're not painting the bear-man's goats?" Thorin said.

"No." Dwalin answered grimly. "Not since I hid the paint."

Bilbo reflected that it must be a difficult position, being the dwarves' sober overseer. Then he reflected on the differences between Dwalin and himself, and suddenly the thought of a murderous goblin was looking mighty friendly again. He reached for the last full cup of ale, but Thorin deftly slid it out of his reach.

"That ale," Dwalin began. "Is there something –?"

"_Yes_." Thorin said. "Do you need help out there?"

"Nope!" Said Kili, popping through the door and grabbing one of Dwalin's arms.

"Everything under control." Fili said, emerging and grabbing Dwalin's other arm. He gave Bilbo a wink as he and his brother pulled Dwalin out the door.

_Oh…my…land, are they setting us up?! _Bilbo's thoughts screamed in dawning comprehension. _No…it couldn't be…._ And yet that would explain a lot of what was happening….

But…how was he supposed to…? _What _was he supposed to…?

"Give me that ale." If he was going to…well, if he was going to do anything at all, he would need a bit of liquid courage.

"Why?"

"Because…it's the last one and I should…finish it, before anyone else gets it and gets even worse."

"And the other two kegs, after?"

"Just…shut up and give me my drink."

Thorin actually smirked at him before downing the entire thing himself.

"Are you crazy?!"

"If I wasn't before…" He stood abruptly, throwing the tankard into the fireplace, where it shattered.

Bilbo barely had time to be astounded at this before Thorin turned to face him. Simply the look exchanged between them felt more scandalous than any taboo thing that Bilbo had ever done, if not all of them put together.

Thorin took a step towards him, but Bilbo must have looked something like what he felt like: a rabbit being sized up by a particularly rugged-looking wolf. Something in Thorin's expression shifted; discerning, rather than smoldering.

"I think that ale did not agree with me." He turned away. "I'm going to bed."

"D-don't go." The words escaped him before he could stop himself.

"You're in over your head, burglar." It should have been an insult, and yet his voice was the gentlest Bilbo had ever heard it.

"That's not – okay, that _is_ true, but you said I was brave, remember? You said that not five minutes ago, and you can't say I'm brave and leave because you think I'm a coward. It would imply that you were lying."

Thorin turned back around, a slightly incredulous smile on his face. "You're just…full of sound logic tonight."

"Yes. The logic. I…have it."

Thorin laughed softly, returning to his place on the couch. Bilbo was shocked speechless for a moment that the stubborn, violent, brooding dwarvin prince had actually done what he'd asked.

"Now that I'm here, what are you going to do?" There was something of a challenge in his voice, but he also seemed genuinely curious. And there was still a touch of incredulity, as though disbelieving that Bilbo might do anything at all.

"You could just…get me more ale –"

"No. We're not going that route."

"Fair enough." He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous fidget. "You were right, that I'm in over my head personally. But," he held up one finger. "I have my professional reputation to consider, yes?"

"…Yes." Thorin said, unsure of exactly what he was affirming.

"Well," he gulped, nervous, "if I am, in fact, a burglar worthy of this company, obviously I ought to be able to steal just about anything I want, yes?"

"Yes."

"And it would be a fine burglar indeed who could steal a kiss from the great, grouchy, Thorin Oken – stop laughing!"

Thorin had doubled-over, almost crying in mirth.

"Fine then, if you don't like hobbit courtship then I'm leaving." He got to his feet, intent on finding that murderous goblin once and for all. Thorin grabbed his arm as he passed and pulled him down, almost onto his lap. Thorin's arms were around him, his head resting on Bilbo's shoulder. He might have liked that, except Thorin was still shaking with suppressed laughter.

"I hate you." Bilbo muttered, crossing his arms and deliberately not melting into the embrace. "No manners. No consideration. How would you like it if I burst out laughing at you?!"

"As opposed to cowering from me?"

"I didn't cower."

"You did."

"Well…you're…has no one ever told you you're bit intimidating?"

"I'm certainly no hobbit."

"And I'm certainly no dwarf." Bilbo sighed. "Do we…cut our losses, before this gets any worse?"

He didn't want to, but it seemed the wisest course of action or, rather, inaction. So many barriers between them had just been removed…it should have been almost easy, and yet he was screwing things up.

"I don't know. I'm no good at…this sort of thing."

"Really?"

"Does it seem like I am?" He seemed torn between exasperation and amusement. "If anything has made me appear as a suave romantic, do tell me."

"I wouldn't call you a romantic. Far from it, but I…would think you could have just about anyone."

"I don't want just anyone."

Bilbo was glad he was sitting down, as those words made him weak in the knees. So he was…'someone', to Thorin?

"I don't want to cut our losses." He said, pivoting as he sat so that they sat facing each other.

"No?" Thorin's hand came to rest lightly on his own. It was amazing that his large, calloused digits could seem so tentative.

"Being a hobbit and all, I'd rather take advantage of the last bed I'm likely to see in a long while."

Thorin's eyes widened slightly, and he laughed again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He said, drawing his free hand across his face. "I'm not laughing at you. I simply didn't expect…that…from you."

"I believe that is the same as laughing at me, Thorin. But they say – among my people anyway – that the ability to make someone laugh is an important quality."

"Aye, mine say the same." He frowned slightly. "And the intimidation factor?"

"We'll work on that…" He hesitated, then, "Since we're being 'open' or something, I might as well tell you that it's not just you I find intimidating. How I've come to feel about you…well, you might be the one in over his head."

Thorin leaned in closer, so close their foreheads were touching. Suddenly Bilbo felt that he was in a very high place, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

"I'll attempt to curb my fear."

He brought one hand up, tucking one finger under Bilbo's chin and gently tilted his face upwards. Bilbo had just enough time to worry that he might shatter on impact. Then, they were kissing, and Bilbo managed to stay in one piece, although he was never sure exactly how.

Once the initial shock washed over him, however, the contact felt surprisingly natural. If he had felt about to fall, and had plummeted over the edge, now it was as though he was floating. For the first time, he didn't miss his home. It was as though the world had shrunk down to only the two of them. There was nothing to miss.

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(A/N: I am planning to write an epilogue as to the morning after. Then...maybe...if I am feeling very bold...I might write about what happens in between. I know it's a whoreish thing to say, but it does partly depend on the reviews I get. I will be much more motivated if I know I'm not the only one who wants to see Thorin raid Bag-End. Oh god, did I just say that? What the hell was in that ale?! Thanks for reading!)


	2. Bets Are Placed

"What's going on in there? It's been an hour!"

"It's been _five minutes_."

"Fifteen at least. Come on, I've got serious gold riding on this one!"

"What, want me to poke my head in and look?"

"Why the bloody hell not? Knowing Thorin they're still shooting furtive glances at each other. Five gold says it's nothing more than that."

"You're on. _My _gold's on that ale."

"I though he wasn't drinking it."

"My brother got him to drink some."

"Right, so he's bold enough to chop someone's head off for being nosy."

"Nosing into what? We know he has no people skills…"

"He's right. Two gold Thorin says something asinine and Mr. Baggins comes storming out to find us with our ears against the door."

"You look, Fili, he won't kill his own heir."

"You're sure of that? He does have a spare one."

"So both of you at once then."

"He can only aim for one of you at a time!"

"Look through the keyhole."

"Tried. Can't see anything."

"There's a window 'round the side, go on."

"Alright, alright, stop pushing."

"Three gold says Thorin throws a sword at someone before the nights out."

"I'll take that one."

"Seven says they're already finished."

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(A/N: I usually save documents under the initials of the story's name. Just realized this one is "PG". *whispers* It's not. Also, no dialog tags because it could literally be any of them talking, and I thought specifying would detract from the generic dwarvish nosiness I was going for. Thanks for reading!)


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